


Then There was Chevy

by Mrs_Don_Draper



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Anal Sex, Caretaking, Crying, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Don_Draper/pseuds/Mrs_Don_Draper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mad Men Kink Meme Prompts: Bob/Pete, Chevy asks for something different and by different I mean to watch them bang. + Pete/Bob, Pete is raped. Bob helps him to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> http://madmenkinkmeme.livejournal.com/

They shouldn't have gone out that late with the Chevy execs, Pete tells himself. For Christ's sake, they're in Detroit. But Chevy insisted on a test drive of their prototype model and going out to celebrate and what could a few drinks hurt, huh? Bob and Pete could hardly refuse the offer. Needless to say, the night was fine up until Chevy got wasted and wanted to go for another ride, goading Pete into driving. Even Bob was apprehensive. He could smell that something was up.

“Gentlemen, I think we've given Mr. Campbell enough trouble tonight. Why don't you let me drive us back to the dealership?” Bob offers.

Pete is actually fucking grateful of Bob's “charity” for once.

“What, can't preform, Campbell? That Kenny of yours put on quite a show”—the wink they share gives both Bob and Pete an uneasy feeling—“so why can't you?”

They _cannot_ lose this deal. They've come too far already. The only question is: how far will Chevy push them...?

Bob gives him a sympathetic look before climbing into the passenger's seat. They've been backed into a corner and neither of them can think of a way to weasel out of it.

It should come of no surprise that the man who doesn't know how to drive stick hit a telephone pole. And the car wouldn't start up. He knows he should have gone to one of the nearby homes to call a tow truck, but how embarrassing would it be to confess in front of clients that he was shit at driving stick, ended up crashing a brand new car, _and_ was willing to go begging to use a house phone at eleven at night? He was much more content to cut his nose to spite his face than admit defeat. 

Contemplating what they should do, the execs begin whispering and chuckling behind their hands while Bob stands between them and Pete. They're planning something, and Bob doesn't like the feeling he's getting from them. Something is going to happen tonight, and he's got a good idea of what it is.

He walks over to Pete before Chevy can get to him. At least he can warn the man of what he's sure is to come.

“I've got a bad feeling about this.”

“No shit, Bob. I've single-handedly lost the account!”

“I think they're going to offer us a way to earn their trust back,” Bob suggests.

“What do you mean?”

Bob simply folds his arms across his chest and hopes he doesn't have to spell it out for him.

“Hell's bells! You can't seriously think they'd—No. They can't make us.”

“No. They can't. But they _can_ take the account elsewhere.”

As much as Bob enjoys tormenting Pete a little bit every day, the look of abject horror across his face is one he had never wanted to see. There was annoyance, there was playful, there was suggestive, and then there was Chevy...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chevy gives an ultimatum.

They skip going back to Chevy headquarters and head on over to a two star hotel. George hands over money for one room and the concierge hands over a key with a sly look at Pete and Bob.

“Where'd you get these pretty boys, fellas?” he taunts.

Pete's face reddens when George, Frank, and Mitchel laugh.

“You'll do well to remember your place. Who is servicing whom here?” Pete bites.

The man continues to smirk.

“I don't know, buddy. You tell me.”

Pete is nearly ready to fight the kid when Bob suddenly puts a hand on his bicep.

“Come on, Peter,” he says gently. “Let's go.”

He does. He has no other choice. The two trail behind Chevy staring straight ahead as they walk down the endless hallway. The feeling of dread sticks to his body, and Pete begins to sweat. Bob notices.

“It's ok. I won't let them hurt you,” Bob whispers.

“I can take care of myself!” Pete hisses.

“Here we are!” Mitchel crows, brandishing the key and opening the door to hell. Pete immediately steps closer to Bob. “After you, boys.”

The door shuts behind them with startling finality. There is no more false pretense when Frank oh-so-helpfully pulls down the sheets.

“What are you expecting we will do?” Bob queries. If they can negotiate...

“Well,” George says as he lights a cigarette, “the way I see it is that you wrecked a priceless car, one of a kind. We paid for dinner, drinks too, and you destroyed our best model.”

“I told you that I didn't know how!” Pete interjects.

George ignores him.

“So we figure that you can give _us_ something priceless, something that can be wrecked. And, well, both of you are mighty handsome boys.”

Mitchel and Frank laugh again. Always with that laughter!

“Please. We can pay for it. Somehow. I won't do this!” Pete yells, stamping his foot hard.

“Then you can say good-bye to Chevy. I'm sure Don Draper and Ted Chaough will understand when you tell them that you two lost the account within thirty-six hours.”

“I'm not fucking you!” 

“Pete, the account is not that important. We can expose them when we get home,” Bob soothes.

“And _we_ can expose _you_ two for being homosexuals. I'm sure that will go over well too,” George grins.

Bob feels Pete quivering next to him, frightened, and understandably so.

“Fine. But leave Campbell out of this. I'll—I'll—What do you want me to do?” Bob asks.

“Blow job'd be nice. But I'd rather watch you screw the Campbell boy. I'll bet he's a pretty crier,” Frank jibes. 

Bob turns to look at Pete. They are well and truly cornered, coerced by a series of unfortunate events completely out of their control and utterly not their fault. But there was nothing else to be done. He never imagined it would be like this. He was coming to terms with Pete tolerating him for business only, and now, now their worst fears were being realized. He was going to have to fuck Peter.

He was struck with an idea.

_Do it quickly, Benson, before you lose your nerve._

He grabs Pete's face and kisses him deeply, trying to ignore the whine of shocked protest as his tongue entered his mouth. He hated himself. He truly did. But if he didn't fuck Pete, one of the other men would, and they would be far from kind and caring. He winces when Pete beats his torso when he disrobes them both, trying to hold him still and kissing, kissing, kissing him to keep him quiet. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand it if Campbell cried on him, though he knew it was probably inevitable. Eventually, though, he had to pull back for air.

He pushes Pete down on the bed, and Pete whimpers pathetically, scratching and whining as Bob tries to adjust their positions. He has to soothe Campbell, let him know that he doesn't want this. _He doesn't want this_. These men will harm him, them, if he doesn't protect the man. He devoutly ignores the way George, Frank, and Mitchel stroke their cocks as they watch.

“Pete,” he pants softly into his ear. “I can't let them harm you. Please, Pete. They might kill you if they aren't careful.”

Pete bites his shoulder sharply as he tries to get away. Pete tastes coppery blood on his tongue and begins to tear up.

“Fuck!” Bob cusses.

“Fellas, if you don't hurry this up, me and Frank will want a turn with you both, and George too.”

Bob become frantic, but tries, tries, tries to be calm, petting Pete's hair and looking into his eyes to keep him focused. 

“Look at me, Pete. I won't hurt you.

Pete bites his bottom lip and nods very faintly.

“Oil,” Bob demands. “I won't fuck him raw.”

The men oblige, again with smirks and merriment on their part, hugely enjoying the show.

Bob slicks up his fingers and shoves into Pete without warning. No point in ratcheting up Pete's anticipation. Pete gasps loudly in pain.

"We're in serious shit, aren't we?" Pete asks, chuckling humorlessly.

"Yeah,” Bob replies. “It's easier if you get hard, Pete.”

Bob works on humping his hips up and down, trying to arouse him to make this whole process go faster, to get this over with sooner. He crooks his fingers to find Pete's sweet spot.

Pete bites his lip when new thoughts come to mind. He thinks of killing these evil men, and it gives him a rush like no other. Pete knows these awful thoughts gorge his cock with blood, and his hands shake and maybe he thrusts his hips up a few times too, ashamed of himself. He wants to relieve all this built up tension. All of this talk and all of those feelings flood his senses, and his semi-hard cock reaches full hardness. He presses the heel of his palm down on his bulge to relieve some of the ache.

“Bob?” he whimpers.

"If you need to relieve yourself, you're more than welcome to, Pete."

Pete lets out a shuddering breath when he touches himself. They're both too far gone to hear the moans of the other men in the room. He finds himself already leaking, making his cock nice and slick to jack. It aches for somewhere warm and deep to go.

"Bob? Tell me about how it feels. Tell me what you'd want me to do if it was me with you."

Bob squirms a bit on his blanket, but decides to indulge his coworker. It's not difficult to conjure up a vision of an intimate night with Pete. He is a handsome man. Bob decides build a fantasy for Pete as he begins slicking up his cock to enter Pete.

"Kissing first, of course. Sweet, slow kisses to tease me. You'd find the spot behind my jaw and suckle there and make me whimper. My sweet spots always make me keen, and I have many of them. You'd pull me in to you by my hips, and I'd feel how hard you were. As hard as you get after a big sell. You're thick. I can see that now.”—Bob pauses only to swiftly enter Pete's oiled hole, both grunting as he does so—“You'd rut against me, feeling so big, and I'd worry how you'd fit inside me. I would soon see that no oil should be spared. So much would be inside me that you wouldn't be able to tell my passage from a woman's wet cunt. I know you'd want me so wet for you, dripping..."

Bob shudders inside Pete as he imagines their positions being reversed. Pete, who is so used to the natural lubricant of a woman, would need him soaked to keep up the pretense of normalcy. A man like Pete wouldn't want to be shaken out of the moment by being reminded that he's with a man. He wants Pete to feel as comfortable as he can while still fucking him against both their wills. The slick slide and gentle moans that accompany his words are reassuring though, and Bob soon finds himself reaching that fine edge. Later though. Pete needs his release first.

"You would—you would put your cock against me. Gentle. So very gentle at first. Pressing into me bit by bit. You don't want to harm me, not terribly. Perhaps later, in the aftermath. But I will let you hurt me if it made you feel better. If you need to beat me for what I've done. But later. I—I beg you to keep your anger at bay until after."

"No."

Bob is startled out of his monologue at Pete's words. He was expecting violence for his audacious words.

"It's not you, Bob,” he moans, quite against his will. “God, no. Don't talk like that. It's them, Bob. _Them_. I could...I could see it almost, you and I. You have pretty words. Don't stop now. Not now."

Deeply touched, Bob swallows through a lump in his throat. People have beaten him, hit him for being different. Even the ones that had used his body liked to leave marks, almost as if to teach him a lesson for being so dirty. Of course Pete is different. He's proving it time and time again.

Pete's words are finally, genuinely kind, and Bob's heart breaks when he sobs as the Chevy men come one at a time. And all because of his pain.

“Don't stop talking, Bob. Please,” Pete begs.

"Alright," he chokes out. "You would be inside me, then. I would be so full of you. You could enter me any way you wanted. On my back, I'd spread my legs wide. On my stomach, I'd rise up on my knees to give you new deepness. On my side, curled around me, hand pressed to my quivering stomach. Any way you want to fill me. I would clench and tense with you in me, wanting you to feel it all, to take your pleasure from me. I would come just from your closeness to me."

Pete's tears flow freely as he gets closer and closer, and Bob can't help but let a few of his tear fall.

“Please hurry.”

"Shhh, shhh. Nearly there. Nearly there. Stay with me?"

Pete can only nod as Bob barely brushes his lips across his own. He needs to hear the rest of what the man has to say.

Whispering now for some flimsy semblance of privacy, Bob resumes his narration.

"Once you entered me, you'd be nervous. I would tell you that everything was wonderful and to use me as you pleased. You would hesitate, but you wouldn't be able to restrain yourself. I would encourage you to go faster and harder. Faster and harder.”

Bob's hand caresses his face and neck, causing him to shudder. His hand comes down to settle on his hip, a solid, reassuring pressure on his shame-warmed skin. Bob feels his cock stir, just about to come. It almost feels good to be here like this. Pete's breath becomes more and more rapid. He doesn't know how much longer he can hold back. It's been so long. Bob can sense his desperation.

"Not much longer now. Come when you are ready. It's alright. I promise. Come."

Pete shoots white ropes of come between them, and finally Bob releases as well, working him through the aftershocks. Bob's hand is thickly covered in Pete's essence, but he doesn't seem put off from the mess. He wipes the mess off on the already dirty comforter below them. He hears the Chevy men panting. Pete shivers intensely, and Bob quickly withdraws.

Bob can't help his next words. 

“I'm so sorry.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath isn't pretty.

Chevy chuckles as they watch the two men tremble when they come apart. Pete's face is covered with tears and snot, and Bob looks like he's five seconds from murdering someone.

“Satisfied?” Bob barks.

“More than that. We'll put in an excellent word from all of us for how persuasive and accommodating you both are. In fact, not only will we pay for your night here, we'll also leave for our own rooms. Long day tomorrow, contracts and pitches and whatnot. You know how it is.”

Bob remains stone-faced until Mitchel, Frank, and George leave. Pete begins to cry in earnest.

“ͭ _¡Puta madre!_ ” Bob cusses as he gets off of Campbell. “ _¡Mierda!_ ”

Pete is shocked at both his language and his knowledge of Spanish. He sits up and wipes his face, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Where did you learn that?”

“That? Boarding school, college, night clubs, you know—safe havens for homosexuals to hide out in.”

He tries to make it sound casual, but Pete's looking at him like he's crazy.

“That's disgusting. I meant your Spanish.”

Bob pauses in dressing. Oh.

“My nanny.”

The silence between them stretches on for what feels like an eon. 

“I have to shower,” Pete demands, hopping up with a wince and a yowl to get there before Bob could say or do anything. It left Pete to his own thoughts.

He had been raped by a man, a coworker. Everything people said about raped was now true for him. Victim. Vulnerable. Dirty. He scrubbed his body with the tiny hotel soap and put the water to scalding. That was it. He was quitting. Forget his power struggle with Draper—Dick, his mind reminded—it wasn't important anymore. Nothing was. He was so unclean. So impure. Violated. Penetrated. Open.

Bob's thoughts were no more pleasant. He had raped a man. Everything people claimed about homosexuals was now true for him. Rapist. Dangerous. Unclean. All those words defined him now. He had wanted to make good here, start over. Start a new life. A life away from his own pain and suffering, never intending to cause his own. Now here he was, the evidence of his crime all over the sheets. So disgusting. Violent. Cruel. Shattered.

They stare at each other when Pete exits the shower. The water had become icy, and it had reminded him too much of the cold laughter of the Chevy men.

“Peter,” Bob says quietly.

“Don't,” he says weakly. Bob can tell he meant to say it with a bite. It was meant to be harsh and hurtful, but Pete was too shaken, too violated to put any real venom behind his words. It makes him feel that much worse. How could this have happened to them.

“They were going to take turns with me, weren't they?” Pete asks with scary calmness. He goes about getting his own clothes.

“I sincerely believe that, the way they were whispering and hinting.”

“Then you did me a favor, I suppose.”

Bob's heart shatters inside his chest. He didn't know there were any more pieces left to break. This man made him ache in perpetuity. 

“No. Please, don't.”

Pete ignores him, eyes wide and lost and frightened, the crystal blue intensified by a thousand emotions. 

“Don will be so proud of us,” Pete says with sincerity.

And that's when it hits Bob, the real reason they...did what they did. How could they let down Don. And which one of them would have had to be the one to deliver the bad news. One or both of them would be fired. Bob is speechless for once.

“It always comes back to Don, doesn't it?”

Bob remembers their elevator ride and shared coffee, how proud he felt to be able to help the great Don Draper in even the tiniest of ways, hoping that the coffee was just to his liking. Campbell is right.

“I know I am.”

Oh. He must have spoken aloud. He should remember not to do that as much anymore.

“At least it's over,” Bob manages to say.

“Is it?”

There's still pitches and meeting and contracts and lunches and dinners and drinks and posters and commercials. They'll still see them in the office, in board rooms and lunchrooms and restaurants. Don will want them to keep contact. Keep them happy. 

He has to answer honestly.

“No.”

Pete laughs mirthlessly:

“No. It never is.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete gives Trudy a call.

“Chevy called during your flight back. Said they were pleased with your performance. I'd say we should celebrate, but I don't want to get too ahead of ourselves. Nice work, boys.”

Don shakes their hands and walks off. Bob had never seen Don smile like that, and it had been years since Peter had. He almost forgot what it felt like to have Don even so much as tolerate his presence. The two men stand in silence before retreating to their respective offices. There's much to be done. Things like drinking and brooding and worrying fingernails down to the nibs.

Pete locks his door behind him. He just wants to shut the world away even if it's only for a little while. For the first time, he's glad he's not living with Trudy and Tammy anymore. He doesn't think he would be able to stand touching and being touched. Shaking Don's hand was a battle of wills, and he takes pride in the fact that he “won.”

He picks up the phone to call Trudy anyway.

“Trudy Campbell speaking.”

He soft voice breaks his heart.

“It's Pete.

Silence, for a moment. “Is everything alright?”

He can't help it. As much as he and Trudy have never really seen eye-to-eye, he would be lying if he said her genuine concern for him isn't what made tears spring to his eyes again. He gives a vague summary of events and prays that she doesn't ask too many questions.

“Honey, have you talked to the police? Or at least told Don?”

“What? No! That would be shameful. If we lose this account, it could be disastrous, and how would I take care of Tammy's future?”

Trudy is touched that her estranged husband is finally showing compassion for their child. It makes him sound human, and she can only wish it hadn't been a horrific event that brought about his softer, emotional side.

“There's enough money if you want or need to leave, Peter. Do you want to come home for a while and be with Tammy. She's young, but she misses you.”

Pete can't help but wonder if she is speaking on behalf of both herself and their daughter.

“Please. Please let me come home. Just for a while.”

Trudy is patient with him. “Ok. We'll figure something out. We'll get you well again.”

Pete knows he's a disagreeable person, even to the extent of being entitled or bratty, he's been told. But this time, it doesn't feel selfish. It feels right.

“I'm going to ask for emergency time off,” he says with desperation in his voice. 

“We'll talk soon. I'll be right here,” Trudy consoles. 

He hangs up the phone and exhales deeply. He only wanted to be redeemed. And if anyone could absolve him, he wouldn't want it to be anyone other than Trudy.

He cries quietly at his desk until Clara buzzes his intercom.

“Bob Benson here to see you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob makes a decision.

Bob walks back to his cubicle because he was nowhere nearly important enough to have a genuine office. He doesn't cry, but he doesn't work either. He mindlessly shifts papers around on his desk and stacks his pens and pencils in his drawer into neat piles. He throws away some old garbage and wipes his desk down with a spare napkin. When he's finished, he mind catches up to his hands, and he realizes that this is the cleanest his space has ever been. Normally, there's clutter: long lists of people to call and write to, new and old receipts to file, mail to send, envelopes to stamp. They are the typical jobs of a temp. That's where the coffee came in. Bob didn't want to be temporary. Not anymore.

He was tired of moving from place to place looking for work, sharing apartments with other homosexuals under the hush-hush guise that they were simply lonely bachelors. It was safer to live in groups. He was alone this time. He wanted to break out on his own and prove to himself that he could and would be different. He was going to be proud to be Bob Benson for once. He wouldn't be afraid, and he wouldn't hide either. 

That's why meeting Peter was so...wonderful. Maybe he had been married and had had a child, but maybe he was only one on the low end of the Kinsey scale, but something inside him told him to take the chance. What could be the harm? (Ha.) Before he jerked away, he would have sworn on his life that Pete was about to say something. But he lost his nerve or Bob frightened him away, _something_ made him pull away. And he had wanted so badly to pull him back. It would be ok. He would make it be ok. Doesn't he know, doesn't anyone in this office know, that I would do anything for him?

But who was he kidding? Not himself and certainly not Campbell. He had raped the man. Yes, Chevy would've done the same thing, but he had thought that if he could protect Pete from those evil men, those men who put Ken Cosgrove in a cane and eye-patch, then he was doing the right thing. They could've hurt him on the inside. Anal sex was dangerous when not properly done and deadly when done forcefully without proper attention and care. Chevy didn't care about Pete.

There was only one thing left for him to do that would protect Pete: quit.

He would tell him straight away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob makes a promise.

“Mr. Campbell? Bob Benson is here to see you,” Clara repeats, as if hadn't already heard her the first time.

“Tell him I'm busy!”

He hears Clara relay his message and waits tensely for his retreat. He is comforted by the fact that his shotgun is within grabbing distance. It won't kill him, probably, but it could cause damage if need be. An eye for an eye...

Pete's door swings open and quickly shuts again, and Bob Benson walks in. He sees Clara is not at her desk. Sneaky bastard.

“Get out,” he says with venom. 

Pete's jaw clenches and it puts Bob even more on-edge. He had better talk fast.

“I just wanted you to be the first to know that I'm quitting. Today. Right now, if you preferred it.”

Pete can't help but let his eyes widen. 

“Well good riddance.”

Pete swings his chair to face his window and away from Bob. He doesn't him to see the fresh tears that have sprung to his eyes. He waits with clenched fists and trembling lips for Bob to leave so he can move on with his life. He just needs to make it to five o'clock, and then he is literally home free. He just wants to hold his daughter.

“What do you want me to tell them when they ask why I'm leaving.”

“That's not my problem.”

Bob hesitates before interjecting, “First off, they won't let me leave out of the blue when I've just been put on the biggest account either company has ever had. Secondly, it means you're on Chevy alone, so they will need to find a replacement for either one or both of us.”

Fuck! He hadn't even thought of that. And he hadn't even told the higher-ups that he was taking an emergency leave of absence, effective immediately, yet. If the bastard quit, he would be putting his life—and the account—in danger. He swings back around to face Bob, no longer caring if he sees the tears or the hurt in his eyes, the ruddiness of his cheeks.

“Don't you dare fucking quit. I'm taking a leave of absence, and you're going to work on the account until even after I return”— _if I return_ —“and you're going to work with someone else, Ginsberg, Rizzo, whomever, to keep that damn car here at Sterling-Cooper. But I swear on my mother's life, you will never speak to me again. Is that clear?”

Bob stands in stunned silence. Yes. Of course he understands. He just never expected rejection from Peter to hurt this much. He could almost say that he had loved the man...

“Yes. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want,” Pete mocks. “No one ever cares about what I want. And why the hell should you?”

_Because I love you._

“Because it's the least I can do.”

Pete sighs in hurt frustration, classic pout back on his face. Bob imagines he did that a lot as a child to get his own way. It doesn't take a genius to know that people revert back to childhood behaviors in times of stress and trauma.

“Yes. You're right; it is. I'll go talk to Don as soon you can swear to me that you'll never approach me again.”

His heart constricts in his chest, and he knows he has his own wounded look upon his face.

“I promise.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete talks to Don.

“You're kidding me.”

“I'm really not, Don.”

Don pours himself a drink, stern look upon his face. He doesn't offer Campbell one.

“Want to tell me why?”

“I'd really rather not. It's very...personal.”

Don notices Pete fidgeting. What's got him in such a bind? He takes a drink before pointing out the elephant in the room.

“Is this about Bob?”

Pete gulps a bit. 

“Yes, Don.”

Draper frowns. There was something about that Benson kid that didn't sit well with him. There was too much of himself in the boy that made him uncomfortable. And it was something more sinister than simply wanting to start a fresh life. Benson wanted something, and from the way Pete was no longer meeting his eye told him exactly what Bob wanted.

“Have a drink.”

There's something going on here, and he's guessing Campbell might want to be a little bit drunk for it. He knows it's none of his business, but something makes him want to push. There's always been an air about Pete Campbell that made him want to push past boundaries and make him squirm and answer for himself and be honest. Be all the things Dick Whitman was trying to be. Perhaps Don could tease it out of him. It was worth a shot.

Don waits until he's gulped the glass before asking, “What did he do?”

Pete blanches.

“Nothing. I get the feeling that Chevy doesn't like us as a...team,” he answers delicately.

Oh. So it was a sexual thing. But between whom? Pete and Bob? Bob and Chevy? _Pete_ and Chevy? It didn't make any sense. What the hell happened in Detroit? The questions are forming on his tongue when Pete speaks up again.

“Please don't ask me any more questions. Either you'll give me the time off or you won't.”

The man has a point. And it hits Don that this is the first time he's ever viewed Campbell as a “man.” He had always seemed so young and inexperienced. There was still something off about him, but he had somehow grown up this year. But he was damned if he could pinpoint exactly what it was. 

Pete's eyes were starting to well, and Don wanted to wipe his tears away.

“Of course you can have the time off. We'll figure out something in your absence.”—Campbell looks so relieved—“I hope you...recover well.” 

Pete looks as if he could fully weep from relief, but he very bravely holds himself back.

“Thank you, Don.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete talks. Trudy listens.

“It's okay, Peter. It's alright,” Trudy soothes, cradling his head in her hands and leaving soft kisses on his face and neck.

He's been trying to be brave, but with Trudy, he lets himself go a bit. He accepts her comfort because he knows that no one else will be able to calm him, except maybe Peggy, but she hates him, and that thought makes him feel that extra bit worse. He wants to fill that void within him that opened when he tried to have it all, while leaving everyone else in the dirt where he thought they belonged. He knows now that what he did and how he did was wrong, and he can't help but feel sorry for himself at the way everything turned out. 

“This is all my fault,” Pete whimpers.

Trudy hushes him, tells him it isn't true. Silly girl; she doesn't even know everything that happened. He'd only told her they made him and Bob “do things.” And knowing Trudy, she would never think the worst, would she? He wasn't even sure. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. He wants control of his life back in his hands. He could only think of one thing that even came close to it.

“I want to make love to you,” he husks.

He kisses Trudy's neck, and she tilts her head back, letting him. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't surprised. The last time he had been with Trudy was...well, he wasn't even sure.

What they end up doing is far from what Pete would call “making love.” They start off sweet and slow, just like Trudy always wants it to be, but the memories quickly come rushing back, but this time _he's_ the one on top. Trudy simply grasps his shoulders more tightly with her manicured fingers and takes it and takes it and takes until—

“Peter, I love you, but you're hurting me.”

He doesn't hear anything she says after “I love you” because he comes so hard he blacks out on top of her from either exertion or anxiety or maybe some wicked combination of the two. He wakes up alone in bed, but he hears the water running in the en suite bathroom. Trudy comes out in her pink silk bathrobe with a wet cloth and begins dabbing at his sweaty forehead and hairline. It's times like these where he wishes his mother had been more like Trudy when he was growing up. Perhaps he wouldn't have turned out to be such a spoiled, undeserving child. It's apparent to him now what he's become.

“I'm sorry.”

Trudy smiles sadly at him, illuminated from behind by the light from the bathroom. It gives her a bright corona in the dark of the bedroom.

“I know you are, Peter. And things will work out eventually. Maybe not for us together, but we can both find the happiness we deserve. One day.”

One day. That sounds kind of nice. It's very hopeful of her. He falls asleep when she kisses his cheek goodnight.


End file.
